Last Request
by EscapismRocks
Summary: Based loosely on 'My Best Friend's Girl' by Dorothy Koomson. Non-magical AU. Warning for major character death. Rated 'T' for later chapters. Lets assume there will be some language.
1. Chapter 1: Regina - Where Do I Begin

A/N: So let me go ahead and ask you guys to be gentle with me. This is my first foray into this fandom. Second, I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this. There is no pairing because it isn't currently that kind of fic. And finally, your thoughts and comments are welcomed. Not beta'd so grammatical errors are possible.

I made the decision the moment the ink dried, that I would be honest with Henry. As honest as I could be at least. I never hid the fact that he was adopted.

When he was six he started asking questions. And I - I started to lie. "Does my other mom like pizza to?" It was the first time he even mentioned her. His eyes sparkled as he watched the stringy cheese stretch from his slice to his plate, trying to catch the errant strand with his tongue. We were sitting in Granny's, a treat for him after successfully graduating kindergarten.

It progressed. "Where does my other mom live?" "What color hair does she have?" "Will she come visit?" "Does she like green?"

"I don't know Henry." Was the only response I ever gave. I did not feel like explaining that his birth mother would likely never meet him. Besides, if I said that out loud it would make it true. I would wait until he was older.

By the time he was nine he had started asking more emotive questions. "Do you think she misses me?" "Do you think I look like her?" "Why did she give me up?"

A simple 'I don't know Henry' would no longer suffice. I served up all the platitudes he needed, sometimes a little closer to the truth than I'd have liked.

The truth was, I knew exactly where Emma Swan was. I knew that she loved pizza, and a plethora of other junk food. I knew that Henry had her nose. I knew that he tilted his head as he pondered something in just the same way that his birth mother did.

I knew all about the guilt she felt when she decided to give Henry up.

I knew Emma Swan. She had been my best friend.

Once Upon a Time.


	2. Chapter 2: Emma - Return To Sender

There's something about the way everything smells just after it's rained. That earthy smell, that makes everything seem fresh and new. I've come to love that smell.

When I first moved back to Boston I wrote a column about it. The smell. How refreshing it was. How it reminded me of fresh starts, new leaves – whatever. It still does. It reminds me of starting all over again.

I didn't really think much when I left New York, I just packed a bag and got on a bus. Boston was the simplest option at the time. As it turns out it was probably one of the better decisions I've ever made. I rolled up at the hostel, dripping wet, with a small bag of things. I will never forget the look on desk guy's face. I hadn't slept for probably two or three days, and I'd been wearing the same clothes for just as long. I was soaking wet from the rain, and to top it all off had been crying for most of the journey. I don't think he knew whether to wrap me in a towel or slam the door in my face. But I managed to explain between sniffs that I had spoken to him from the bus about staying there for a few days.

It was a real hole, and I've stayed in my fair share of them over the years. I reached out to some of the cops I knew from the first time I lived here. They pointed me in the direction of a nice little place about to go on the market. It really didn't bother me that there had been a violent homicide there in the weeks before. "Wife found her hubby screwin' the babysitter." My desk sergeant friend explained. I'd seen worse, and the rent was cheap as a result. The landlord had a new carpet fitted before I moved in, so that helped.

Getting a job was a lot easier too. In New York, I'd been working tirelessly on the news desk of a rather well known publication. I won't name them, since I didn't leave on the best terms, and really it's not all that relevant. Except to say, that when I walked into the office of the Boston Bugle and asked for a job, they read a few of my clippings and made me a columnist. Seriously. If I'd have known it was that easy I would have moved here years ago. So now I spend my time writing interesting and funny articles for a newspaper about my life, and current affairs. Dream job. It certainly beats chasing criminals for a cash reward. And let me tell you the jump from bail bonds person to investigative reporter was easier than I thought it would be. But I don't even have to do that anymore.

When I'm running low on ideas for a column I open the fan mail. Although I don't think you can call it fan mail. It's generally either religious nuts telling me that I'm going to hell, people asking me to write about their charity, latest business venture, CD, or their missing cat. But sometimes just sometimes there are actually letters thanking me, because I've written something that someone else can relate to, and knowing they aren't alone has made them feel a little better.

I also get another kind of letter. They are all unopened in the bottom of my desk drawer. Because I can't actually throw the damn things away. When I first started as a columnist they arrived every other week, now they arrive every now and again. I can normally recognize them from the scrolled handwriting that sort of screams my name. And they go straight in the drawer.

Except today. I've been opening letters to kick start my brain, sorting them into piles I will reply to, piles that need throwing in the trash, and another that just need filing for future reference. I would have picked the card out from all the others and swiftly deposited it alongside all the others if Marcia, one of the food critics hadn't just pushed open my door and invited me to the new Mexican place that opened up. They get to review all the best places, and she knows I have a weakness for tequila and nachos. As a result when I glance down, there in my hands is an open card with my ex-best friend's handwriting in it. All it says is:

" _Emma._

 _Don't ignore this._

 _I'm in Storybrooke General._

 _I'm dying._

 _Please come._

 _Love always Regina."_

And I can't stop staring at it.


	3. Chapter 3 : Regina - When We First Met

_A/N: Thank you to those people who have followed or reviewed! I hope you've enjoyed reading so far. So as you can see I'm trying to do a chapter from either Regina's or Emma's POV. I'm also taking a few liberties with their ages, namely they need to be of a similar age in this fic. Once again, no beta so all grammatical errors are totally my fault. Let me know what you think!_

The first time I met Emma Swan, she was a painfully skinny little waif of a thing. Much different from the Emma I know today, in more ways than one. I can remember it as if it only happened yesterday.

Professor Oaks stood at the front of the class looking up into the gods and waving at the guy who operated the projector to shut it off. He then began explaining the objectives of the assignment he was setting us, and how it was a necessity that we work in pairs. I still groan when I hear him say that even now. I hated partnered assignments and group work. Not because I can't work with other people, and most definitely not because I'm anti-social. I'm a wasp through and through. The only enjoyment my mother ever got out of having me was my ability to become a social butterfly. No, I hated this because I am – was – no am, a bit of a control freak. Well maybe a control freak is too strong a word. I'm a perfectionist. Yes, that's it. I'm a perfectionist. And I have learnt my lesson many times that group work or having to 'buddy up' for an assignment, generally means I end up pulling everyone's weight. I was thinking all that and generally being irritated when my name was called, and I panicked that I'd missed my pairing, until Emma's name swiftly followed.

Now as I said I am fairly sociable. Even in college, despite having not quite grown into my looks, and being entirely too focused on academics, I still went to parties and knew the names of the majority of my dorm. I would even go as far to say that despite being geeky and gangly I was quite popular. So it came as quite a shock that I had not heard of Emma Swan, who according to Professor Oaks was to be my new best friend over the next month as we compiled this assignment. I looked all around me to see if anyone was pointing my direction, or making direct eye contact, but I didn't see anyone. I nudged the guy next to me, and asked if he knew Emma Swan, he shrugged and went back to his doodling. I didn't allow this to deter me. I had been assigned Emma Swan as my partner, and she would not evade me. I began throwing things into my bag so I could catch Professor Oaks and ask for some contact details for the elusive Miss Swan. But as per usual the portly little man who you would never expect to move quite so quickly was making a beeline for the exit before the stampede of students could make it to the doors.

I was out of my seat like a flash, determined to catch up to Professor Oaks. I remember making it outside and being blinded by the sunlight. I will never comprehend why they make auditoriums and lecture halls quite so dark, when students of all kinds are notoriously tired.

Now, remember how I said I was geeky and gangly? Well, I was quite clumsy too. (I learnt poise and grace a few years later.) Which doesn't explain how I managed to empty the entire contents of my book bag onto the concourse, but it helps. I was quite aware that my class was now dispersing in every direction, and my hopes of locating one Emma Swan today, were rapidly becoming slimmer. That twinned with my irritation at having to do group work, annoyance at having dropped my things, and aggravation that instead of helping, people seemed much more inclined to trample me and my things. All so they could skip off merrily into the sunshine and forget all about their English project until two days before it was due in. Well, it all made me snap when a little voice said "Excuse me?"

"What?" I demanded, as the girl looked a little wide eyed and handed me one of the remaining books that was still on the floor.

"You're Regina right?" She asked standing up once more.

Now here's the part where I jumped to conclusions. There was no wonder I hadn't known the girl's name. I had seen her before, but she wasn't the type of person I generally associated with. She was the pretty girl that hung around with the burn-outs and drop-outs. Guilty by association as my mother had often told me. It did not inspire much faith as far as this English project went.

"Emma?" I asked her. She nodded. I tried not to role my eyes at my luck. Honest I did.

For the last few years I have replayed that scene many times. In fact in the last fifteen years it has been replayed over and over again. But more so in this last year. I remember how wrong my assumptions were. How I got an 'A' and a best friend out of that English assignment on Wuthering Heights. And I remember exactly how I managed to destroy all that.

That's the funny thing about dying. It gives you this amazing clarity on life. You finally see what you have done, what you should have done, and what you should do now.


	4. Chapter 4: Emma - Torn

This is not happening to me. It's a cruel joke. It has to be. I've refused to acknowledge any correspondence for the last ten years, so she's going to lure me in with this venomous lie. I really wouldn't put it past her. Regina can be cold and calculating. Especially when she holds a grudge. And boy does she have a grudge against me. Not that I haven't tried to redeem myself. It never really mattered. Forgiveness is not in the woman's vocabulary.

It's a good twenty minute walk from the office to my apartment. But it clears my head, calf muscles burning at the pace my legs set. Music blaring from my earphones helps me keep a good pace. Anything to drown out these thoughts.

I ripped the card up in the end. I couldn't stop reading it so I tore in half and threw it in the garbage. But it was too late because the words are burned into my mind. "I'm dying." Yeah, and I call bullshit. I'd apologised to Marcia, faked an emergency and left. Nachos would not sit well in my stomach right now. Tequila though. That might actually help.

Storybrooke. What is she doing in Storybrooke? I'd always figured she'd stay in New York. She'd grown up in Storybrooke, the idyllic town in Maine. A far cry from the foster homes I'd bounced through in Boston. When we met I remember she reeked of money. All twin-sets and pearls. My polar opposite. I think she took me home with her that first holiday just to piss her mother off.

Undoubtedly that was the reason she was in Storybrooke. Her mother. Cora Mills, had reigned as mayor for most of Regina's life. Indeed a quick google search revealed that Cora Mills was still the mayor. It just didn't make sense. Why would Regina go back there?

I've run out of possible scenarios by the time I get to my apartment building. A shower and beer, not necessarily in that order, that should help. I throw my keys on the kitchen counter and open the fridge. The lid of the beer bottle skitters across the floor after I use the counter top to open it. It's a skill I learnt at college. Regina hated it. I take a long drink from the bottle.

"Fuck."

Regina.

It's like I opened Pandora's Box by opening that card. Memories and thoughts that I've spent the last decade avoiding racing forward. It makes my stomach churn. The beer bottle ends up on the counter, as I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force the thoughts back into the abyss.

Focus. I need to focus on something. The walls of my apartment are painted grey, there's some framed photography prints on the wall but no personal pictures. In fact, there are few 'personal' items in my apartment. Sure it's homey, but it could easily have fallen out of a IKEA catalogue, there's nothing that says: "This apartment belongs to Emma Swan." In ten years I've put down no roots. There's literally nothing here I couldn't leave behind.

"Fuck."

The realisation of this dawns on me, and my stomach rolls again. It's maybe a habit I formed living in foster homes. Nothing was permanent, everything and everyone was replaceable. Except. Except I had put down roots in New York. There were people who I missed in the first few years. Possessions I had looked at longingly before I walked out the apartment.

My cell phone is in my hand before the rational part of my brain has caught up.

"Mel? Hi it's Emma. Yeah I'm good. Listen I'm going out of state for a few days. I've got some copy done, but I'll email the rest over yeah? Shouldn't be more than a week." I try to assure my boss, as I move around my apartment throwing random items of clothing into a bag. "Great. Thanks." And just like that I've made my decision.

"Fuck." My head rests against the steering wheel of my VW bug as again the absolute futility of debating this takes over. Keys in the ignition. Bag on the backseat. My head is questioning this, its telling me how stupid it is. Opening old wounds. Some not quite as healed as they seem. My heart though. My heart is what makes my hand turn the ignition on. My heart doesn't let me look back, because I wouldn't be me if I didn't at least try right? Right?


	5. Chapter 5:Regina-Sitting,Waiting,Wishing

A/N: Thanks for all the favorites and follows. This chapter is the last of the preamble, it finally feels like its moving along. I hope those of you reading enjoy! Reviews are welcomed.

I have never liked hospitals, but then I don't suppose many people actually enjoy them. It's the waiting that really gets to me. Waiting for news on a loved one, waiting for your test results to come back, waiting for the nurse to turn up with your meds. It gives me too much time to think.

When Henry was 4 I brought him to the ER because his temperature was 102, and it just wasn't budging. We had to wait an eternity for the test results to come back. An ear infection, antibiotics and rest, but during the time between tests and confirmation he'd had every fatal illness I could think of.

I waited for long hours as a teenager outside my father's room whilst the doctors talked to my parents in hushed voices. I knew that they had nothing good to say, if it was good I wouldn't have been sent out of the room. That's why I will only let Henry visit for an hour or two in the evenings now, I can't stomach the idea of him gaining an intimate knowledge of the linoleum tile floor. There are 96 squares in my room.

"Regina?" The nurse breaks my reverie as she knocks on the open door. My smile feels tight, not least because my lips are chapped. "I need to change your drip." She nods. I nod back, it's an everyday occurrence now. "No visitors today?" The nurse asks.

"Not yet." I know that Henry will come by this evening, chaperoned by David if I'm lucky, Mary Margaret if I'm not. It's possible my mother might turn up at some point, but that's unlikely.

"You want me to grab the DVD's from the staff lounge?" She asks conspiratorially as she unclips the bag. Her name is Victoria. I didn't like her when I was first admitted, she was way too cheerful. It didn't take long for me to snap at her, when she snapped back I realised she was a keeper.

"No. I've got some letters to write." I shrug and sit a little higher against the pillows.

"To Emma again?" She asks. There's no judgement there. Although I suppose she sees this kind of thing all the time. She once told me about a guy who recorded video messages to everyone who'd ever wronged him, telling them how he didn't forgive them and he hoped they were unhappy with their lives.

"To Henry." I tell her.

"Well, I'm on until 7 if you need anything." She finishes hanging the new bag and leaves me to write.

It's certainly the hardest thing I've ever done. Writing letters to my son, not the boy he is now, but the man he will become. The one I will never get to meet. I'd cry if I could, but I'm not producing enough tears to do that effectively.

I want him to be able to have a piece of me with him when he does the important things in life. So I've written one letter already for when he's trying to decide if he should go to college, and trying to decide which college. I'm part way through the one for the first time he brings a girlfriend or boyfriend home. I had to put it away yesterday because it was just too hard. I was there for all his firsts, and now I won't get to be there for any of them. This letter is for when he turns 18 and can vote, and hopefully when he'll go off to college. I try to recall myself at 18, fending for myself, learning to cook. Having Emma explain the rules of beer pong. Staying up way too late and having to get up way too early. I wouldn't change a minute of it.

It's exhausting, recalling these times. Emotionally draining trying to find the words I want to say to Henry. They have to be just right; they are all he's going to have of me.

I must have fallen to sleep, because the next thing I know it's 5:30 and Henry will be arriving soon. There's this little ritual I have, reaching for the make-up bag on the stand next to the bed. My reflection in the compact mirror is not what it once was, but I can make the best of a bad situation. I can't let Henry see me like this.

He arrives ten minutes after my lipstick has been applied. He babbles quickly about how he got an A on his Math homework, and did I know that Hercules wasn't just a Disney story he was a Greek myth too! He has a spelling test, and will I help him?

"Tomorrow." I promise, my eyes are so heavy.

"Come on Henry, we'll let your Mom get some rest." David says putting a hand on his shoulder. He means well I know. But I can't stand that pitying smile. I'm not mad at him though, I'm mad at myself. This time, these few short hours with Henry are precious, and I can't summon the energy to stay awake. Henry kisses my cheek and says goodnight, my eyes already shutting as they leave the room.

It's quiet when I wake up. The lights in the hallway dimmed. 10:45 the clock says. I blink my eyes open, trying to focus on the person in the chair. It's not easy, the drugs keep me drowsy for longer than I'd like. It wouldn't be the first time I've hallucinated somebody either. But they switched up the pain relief when I told the nurses about that. Finally I can focus, and my heart stops for a second.

"Miss Swan." My voice is scratchy; I could really use some water. "You came."

She doesn't say a word, she just shrugs slightly. I wonder how long she's been sitting there. It's then that I realise she's holding my hand. Relief washes over me. "I knew you would." I smile.


	6. Chapter 6: Emma - Here I Am

A/N: Thanks again for the follows and favourites! I really do appreciate it. I hope you enjoy this next installment, I'd really like to hear what you think so if you like it, don't forget to review!

It's supposed to take me nearly 5 hours to get from Boston to Maine. It takes me a little over 4, the bug shakes a few times as the needle on the speedo pushes up to its limits. It's a vaguely familiar route; I'd driven here a handful of times with Regina over the years, returning from college for holidays. So when I finally arrive in Storybrooke it's a distinctive set of turns I take, following the signs, right past the mayoral mansion that Regina grew up in, and eventually into the parking lot opposite the hospital.

It's almost empty, visiting time long over. I sit in the car and stare at the building, a few lights still visible, although much of it is shadowed in the night. I've really not thought this through. First, they might not let me in, I have no idea where Regina is, what floor she's on. So they may just turn me away. Second, I have nowhere to stay, I can try and find a room at the B&B I drove past earlier, but chances are slim at 10 at night in a sleepy little town like this. So with options limited to sleeping in my car or trying to sweet talk my way to Regina's room, it's an easy decision. I guess part of me hopes it's still some huge cruel prank.

Surprisingly, the E.R receptionist is very helpful. I tell her I'm looking for my friend, she asks for her name. Blinks at me for a moment because obviously she knows that's the mayor's daughter. She must deem me trustworthy, because she nods her head once and begins typing. She directs me to the elevator, with instructions to get off on the 5th floor and turn right, and it's the final door. I felt for sure that I would have had to turn on the charm.

The elevator dings, and the light above the door indicates I've reached the 5th floor. The doors open, and I follow the blue arrows to the right. Dermatology is in total darkness as I pass by, out of clinic hours. It's only then that I see the sign, above the double doors right at the end of the corridor. Cancer unit. Cancer. It makes me stop in my tracks. Regina is on the cancer unit. Shit.

It takes me a few minutes to gather myself together, before I take the fifteen or twenty more steps to the doors. There's a semi-circular desk just through the doors where I guess a nurse or somebody normally sits. But it's empty right now. The unit seems to be in a horseshoe shape, with the corridor continuing on past the desk, with a left turn at the end, a quick glance up the aisle to the left reveals someone in baby blue scrubs walking towards me.

He's a tall guy, rocking a handle bar moustache. "Can I help you?" His voice is firm but quiet. I suppose he doesn't want to disturb the people on the ward.

"I'm" My voice starts, but it cracks a little. I clear my throat. "I'm looking for my friend." I explain as he eyes me warily. He reaches the desk and picks up a clipboard behind it looking at the paper attached. "Regina. Regina Mills." I tell him.

His eyes dart from the paper to me, as I say the name aloud. He knows her, the expression on his face changes perceptively. He looks me over again. "You must be Emma." He finally cracks a smile.

And What. The. Fuck. How does he know who I am. "Yeah." I nod. It's my turn to be guarded now.

"Regina's just down the hall." He points down from the way he came. "Last door on the left."

"Thanks." I nod, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my leather jacket.

"She's probably sleeping." He adds to my hastily retreating back. "But you're welcome to stay."

"Okay." I give him a tight smile over my shoulder and try and make my way to the room.

Knocking lightly on the door before I twist open the handle. I don't want to freak her out if she is awake, but I don't want to wake her up if she isn't. I tentatively step through the doorway. And I can't help but hold my breath. That isn't Regina there in the bed. I mean it is. But it's not the Regina I remember.

She looks so small in the bed, surrounded by machinery and wires. Wires everywhere. This is not the larger than life woman I know. It can't possibly be. I have to step in and close the door I need to get a better look.

Even though she's asleep, I can see the darkened circles around her eyes as if the sockets themselves have enlarged. Her skin looks sallow, and it's painfully obvious from the bright printed silk scarf around her head that she's lost some of her hair. It's all I can do to choke back a sob as I sit deflated in the chair. I'm glad she isn't awake to see my reaction. I'm not sure how I could have hidden it. This can't be Regina can it? How did this happen?

I reach out and take her left hand. Her skin feels so delicate, like paper. Careful not to disturb her I scoot the chair forward, and leave my hand with hers on the bed. As if holding on to her now will make it all better. Or I'll wake up from this freakish dream. It's all I can think of. What else can I do? I don't know what I expected. Actually that's a lie. I expected there to be fireworks. I expected a stand-off. I expected her acid tongue to strike visceral blows. I did not expect this.

I must have been sat there for twenty minutes or so when suddenly she stirred. Her eyes fluttered open. Blinking away the sleep. She blinks at me drowsily a few times before the corners of her mouth tweak up into a smile. "Miss Swan." She says, her voice gets caught, like she needs a drink. "You came." Her eyes close for the briefest of moments. She sees or feels my hand in hers, and I can actually see her physically relax. "I knew you would." She grins, almost triumphant. Her eyes close again. If the situation were even slightly different I'd roll my eyes, snatch my hand away and make some comment about being able to leave again just as quick. Then how right would she be? But I don't, I can't. So instead I sit and watch the woman I've known for the best part of 20 years sleep.


	7. Chapter 7: Regina - Glad You Came

_A/N: Again thank you for the follows and favorites. Look, look. Actual Regina/Emma conversation. I know I'm amazed I got there too!_

 _Again, questions/comments/thoughts/concerns are welcomed. I hope you enjoy!_

Emma isn't there when I wake up. For a few moments I think I dreamed her, but then I see the duffle bag carelessly strewn on the floor beside the chair. I sit up a little in the bed. Somebody has brought a new jug of water in; it's placed on the tray to the right of the bed. I'm just pouring myself a glass when she comes back.

"You look like shit." Emma says leaning against the door jam, sipping at coffee that clearly came from the cafeteria.

"You don't look so hot yourself." I tell her. Its very Emma to just say what she thinks. Anybody else would have danced around the subject. Not Emma. As subtle as a sledgehammer, as always.

"Yeah well , I slept in a crappy visitors chair all night. What's your excuse?" She asks plopping back into said chair unceremoniously.

"Cancer." I respond. I shouldn't smirk like this at her. But God. If I can't cut the bullshit around her then I'll be putting on a front for the remainder of my dwindling days. It's the remark that wipes that cocky grin off her face. Bravado dissipating in an instant.

"Shit Regina." She shakes her head and puts her coffee down on the night stand next to my make-up bag. "How did – Why didn't you-"

"I tried. I've been sending you letters for the last ten years. I assume you finally got one." I shrug. There's an elephant in the room. I want to see how long she can dance around it.

"I didn't open them." She doesn't look at me, but picks at the cuticle on the index finger on her right hand. "I kept them all. I just. I never opened any of them. Until yesterday."

"Well. Better late than never." I laugh bitterly. She looks up at me and starts to scowl.

"Can we not. Just for the next –" she glances at the clock on the wall, "twenty minutes."

"Fine." I relent, taking a sip of my water. We'll have to talk about this sooner rather than later. I don't have the time to drag it out.

"So, when did you – how did you-" She stutters and starts, its unbecoming. I've never known her skirt around what she really wants to say.

"I found a lump in my breast over a year ago. I had it removed, but it had already spread to my lymph nodes." I explain, watching her face. She's back to picking at her cuticle.

"But that's treatable right?"

"I've had everything thrown at it. It's not going anywhere. I'm dying. I've accepted it."

"But surely-" She starts, but I cut her off.

"Emma." She looks up at me finally. "I'm dying. It's ok. We all have to do it some time. My time just came around quicker than I wanted it to."

"But"

"You'll get used to it. I have." I tell her with a shrug. Keen to move on to the heart of the matter. "So are you going to ask me?" I ask tenting my fingers together over the sheets.

"Regina." She warns.

"He's doing fine by the way." Its hostile I know, but I don't have time for softly softly.

"I didn't come here for this." She stands and makes towards the door.

"So what did you come for? Pity? You know how I feel about pity Miss. Swan." She stares at me for a few seconds longer than I anticipated before storming out of the room. I'd be worried, except her car keys are next to my refilled water jug.


	8. Chapter 8: Emma - I Try

_A/N: So my ability to update this last week has not been great. It should get better. In fact I'm not above bargaining. If you review I'll post the next chapter tomorrow. What do you think fair? As always I'd like so thanks for all the follows and favorites. It means a lot that people like this enough to keep coming back to read more. I hope you enjoy it, and if you want to see the next chapter sooner rather than later, review!_

My bug sticks out of the parking lot like a sore thumb, the bright yellow like a homing beacon. It's only when I get to the driver's side door that I remember I've left my keys in Regina's room. "God damn." I mutter to any deity that's listening. I double check the pockets of my red leather jacket, but no they are definitely on the tray at the side of Regina's bed. It takes a lot of self-restraint not to kick the tyre, but I know that doing so will only damage the bug or my foot.

I'd gone out to the car this morning to get my bag, hoping I'd stuffed some headphones in there for my sanity's sake. When I came back in there was someone replenishing the water jugs, so I'd thrown my bag down and swapped the jugs. Dropping my car keys on the counter in the process.

I let my forehead rest against the top of the door. The metal is cool against my skin; it helps me focus for just a moment. It's complicated to say the least. It was all years ago now, things got blown up out of proportion. In other circumstances I suppose water would have passed under that particular bridge and things would be ok now. Unfortunately, there will be no reprieve, things were said that can't be forgiven. Actions taken which are impossible to undo.

I turn and lean my back against the car, head tilted up to the sky watching the clouds. Good air in. Bad air out. I just need a little time, a little space from the situation. If I walk to the B&B I can try and find a room. Kill two birds with one stone.

It's not far, and the walk helps clear my head. Storybrooke is really quite picturesque, the kind of place you come to get away from the city for the weekend. There would definitely be a column or two in it. White picket fences and the American dream.

Granny's is exactly the quaint kind of B&B I expected, Ruby the girl behind the counter less so. I ask about a room, she takes my name and tells me to come back this evening to check in. There's some muttering about the 'old lady' signing off on it. I order a hot cocoa with whip cream and sit in a booth dowsing it with cinnamon sprinkles. Suddenly I'm very tired. My eyes close, as I rest my fingers at my temples, breathing in the smell of cinnamon and chocolate.

"Emma?" A voice I'm sure I know asks. I look up, and smile. Her hair is short now, but it is undoubtedly Mary Margaret in front of me. She's hardly changed a bit. "Emma!" She breaks into and makes to hug me.

"What in God's name are you doing here?" I ask I'm surprised to see her but not shocked. Mary Margaret, like Regina grew up here. Her father was some well to do business associate of Cora's, so when she ended up at the same college as Regina, Mrs. Mills had insisted that her daughter take the younger woman under her wing. Regina, who had baby sat for Mary Margaret wasn't so fond of her tagging along, but I instantly took a shine to the young woman. She was just so well meaning and naive. Regina called her Snow, because she said she was the physical manifestation of the Disney princess. Which was fitting, later when Regina garnered the nickname of The Evil Queen.

"I live here." Snow shrugs, almost embarrassed, possibly apologetic as she sits opposite me in the booth. Apparently I was wrong, some things can be forgiven. "What about you?"

"Regina." I stare at the rapidly melting cream on the cocoa. "She wrote me."

"I'm glad you came." Snow reaches out and squeezes my hand. "She really needs you."

"You've seen her?" My eyebrows rise instantly, again I'm surprised but not shocked.

She nods and bites her bottom lip slightly, "David and I, we take turns bringing Henry to her."

My heart stops. I'd done so well. No one had mentioned him directly yet. My discomfort is palpable. "Oh. God. Emma I'm sorry!" Snow winces as she realises her mistake.

"It's fine." I shrug it off. Except I can't quite shrug it off. Regina has no problem forgiving Mary Margaret, that is quite obvious. Yet I'm the one still on the receiving end of the vitriol.

"For what it's worth," Mary Margaret begins, biting ever so slightly on her lip again, "she's never really forgiven me." It's like she can read my mind, but then she always could. "She puts up with me because – because well, I was relentless in my apologies. I even moved back here to – well. And now I'm convenient, because you know what her mother is like." She says that in almost a whisper. "And Henry likes me, and David." I nod in understanding quick to change the subject. It still hurts. "I teach his fourth grade class." She continues, and I nod again silently twisting the mug of cocoa on the table. "Speaking of which, I should – I should get going." She squeezes my hand again. "Maybe I'll see you later?" She asks hopefully.

"Sure. Yeah. Definitely." I nod with a weak smile. I'd love to see her and David, I just have to see Regina again first. "I'll be staying here for a few days so."

"I'll come by and we can have a proper lunch. I'll bring David. He'd love to see you." I smile properly now and nod, that's something to look forward to at least.


	9. Chapter 9: Regina - All I Ask Of You

A/N: So the last chapter didn't get much love. I cant blame you I didn't exactly love it myself. I kind of like this one though.

Apologies for the time-lapse between updates. I had meant to but then SwanQueen week happened and I got distracted. As always I hope you enjoy, and feel free to drop me a message if you do!

Its early afternoon when Emma returns. I've just finished writing Henry a letter about dating when she appears in the doorway.

I've tried to impart my wisdom, telling him it's not corny to be a gentleman. He should always open the door for his date, because if it's not chivalrous it's certainly polite. He should date as many people as he wants until he finds the one he really likes, but never more than one person at a time. And when the right person comes along, he shouldn't be afraid to tell them he loves them, but he should never lie about being in love with someone because that's how you break someone's heart.

Most importantly, he shouldn't feel embarrassed to tell his beloved's family how he feels, and if he decides to marry, it's polite to tell his darling's parents of his intentions. Permission is not needed, but blessings are accepted. Oh and none of this "Shall we. You know. What do you think?" rubbish. If he's going to ask, he should actually say the words. I was only proposed to once, it wasn't some grand gesture, it was private and perfect. I can only hope that Henry will feel the same.

"So Mary Margaret's here." Emma says tightly as she sits in the visitor's chair, whilst I seal the envelope.

"Oh Miss Swan, I wasn't expecting you." I stow the letter with the growing pile in the bedside cabinet.

"You're real funny, anyone ever tell you that?" She glares.

"It has been mentioned once or twice." I sigh, looking over at her; she looks a little more ready for this conversation. Maybe it just my sheer will that makes her appear that way. "Yes, Miss. Blanchard teaches my son's 4th grade class."

"She mentioned." Emma shifts uncomfortably in the chair. She looks up and locks eyes with me for a moment. "What am I doing here Regina?" She asks, sounding as tired as I feel.

"I thought that was abundantly clear?"

"Apparently not to me." She harrumphs. "Is this some kind of last ditch attempt to make amends?"

"I think we both know I'm way past redemption." I laugh, there's a sour taste in my mouth.

"Then what?" She asks, her eyes pleading. I try to reach into the bedside cabinet, on the shelf below Henry's letters, but it's too far, too much effort.

"Can you?" I point to the thick white envelope. She gets up and hands it to me. "Thanks." I feel the weight of them in my hands, just as heavy as when I had them drawn up. Heavier still than the first set I ever signed. "I need you to sign these." I open the envelope and flick to the relevant pages.

"What is it?" Emma asks, but her wide eyes indicate she already knows.

"Estate planning." I tell her, almost true. "I need." I need another minute or two to think of the right words. "I need." Why is this so hard? I sigh.

"Shall I start at the beginning?" I almost laugh, and Emma half smiles with a nod.

"Okay." Another deep breath.

This conversation has been ten years in the making. I've had it a thousand times in my head, never quite in these circumstances until a few months ago. But actually having this conversation, well it's harder than I had planned.

"When you left New York, I stayed. But you know that. I stayed for nearly a year, with Henry for 3 months or so. But there were too many memories. Daniel. You. And I had a three month old baby, so I moved back to Storybrooke." Recognition flitters across her face, she's obviously been questioning it.

"My mother may not be perfect, but I had no support system. Nothing. She wasn't necessarily happy, but anyway. Within a year Snow and David followed me back here. I was so angry." I laugh a little, I can do that now. Emma smiles a little, I'm sure she can imagine.

"I demanded she leave, made her life miserable, but still every time I saw her all she said was 'I'm so sorry Regina.' I guess she wore me down." I shrug, I still don't like the woman and am not in her presence for long if I can help it, but my ire has certain diminished. I like to think Henry has softened me. "In all honesty, these last few months, without Snow and David – Henry, I don't know." I shake my head, my eyes prickle, no tears, but the emotions are still there. "He's living with my mother, which is not what I want. And he loves David and Snow, but –"

"Regina." Emma cuts in, there's a warning to her tone. The pieces have finally clicked into place for her.

"But I don't want them either. They are going to have their own children someday and –"

"You can't ask me to do this." Emma shakes her head.

"I can't ask anyone else." I answer her honestly. "I need." Another deep breath. "I need you to adopt Henry."

"Regina. I. I can't. I just. Can't." Emma stumbles over every word, eyes full of tears on the precipice.

"Think about it at. Please." I beg, that's right beg. I have never begged another human being for anything. But for this, for this I will do anything.


End file.
